Push
by thehollowones
Summary: Hermione has a dirty little secret. Draco might just have one too. Trigger warning for ED's. Beta-read.
1. Chapter 1

Push, push a little further, rip, tear. Call for Mum.

"Mum!"

"Coming darling! What's the matter?"

Her robes don't fit right. Too small. Rather, too large in the arms with the robes themselves too

small. Thirteen and fat. Thirteen and ugly.

Off to Diagon Alley, Hermione leading the way. Off to Madame Malkins. Size Six. Six, she thinks,

is too much. Zero, she thinks, sounds better. More sophisticated.

Off to Flourish and Blotts. Looks wistfully at Publisher'sDigest, but settles for Teen Witch. That will please Mum, as will the free mascara. Make

herself more vapid, more _relatable_.

At home. Article on slimming the stomach. Knees bent, feet flat on the floor. Arms crossed and

placed on shoulders. Breathe. Breathe deep. Do twenty. Do one hundred. Sit-ups until she cries

from the pain, but she must keep going. She is thirteen and fat.

On the Hogwarts Express. Going back to school. Back to her domain, where the walls are old and

strong enough to hold her in. Ron squeezes her tight upon seeing her, too tight, but even he can't feel

her ribs yet. Harry just smiles vaguely. She shakes her head no at his outstretched hand. Chocolate frogs

are empty calories.

At the feast, Dumbledore speaks. Speaks of love, and hope, and how he really isn't a

manipulative old bastard who will get them all killed. He says to eat up and enjoy, but all she hears is

calories. Calories in potatoes, calories in turkey, calories in gravy. She starts with water and salad but

thinks slowly, slowly, and adds some bread. The calories settle somewhere in her left thigh.

Bedtime. Sit-ups until dawn, until she cries.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N All rights to JKR, all love to my beta and all reviews to me please!

Middle of the night; cold coffee and colas. Writing and writing and writing until the world makes sense. Writing until she's perfect. Writing until she can justify sleeping through breakfast, except she doesn't sleep. Not anymore.

Potions class. Snape drones silkily and the room spins. So cold. So cold. She slumps dizzily over her cauldron, legs giving out. Blonde boy, bad boy, whats-his-name muggle hater stares. Draco. Why couldn't she remember? Too visible now. People can see. Must stand up.

Enemy's fingers wrap hot around her arm and they are on the astronomy tower. He offers her a cigarette and she streams smoke in his face.

She tells him of ketosis and lanugo, electrolyte imbalances and bones that snap and crack under the weight of weightlessness. She tells him of malnutrition and dehydration and all the things she does to herself. She tells him about the sit-ups.

Draco swears not to tell. He swears in the old way, with blood and darkness. He pushes up his sleeves and _shows_. Shows his silent undoings, his scars and cuts and gashes. They are purple and white and deep ruby red and palest pink. She feels dizzy all over again, though she knew. She always knows.

He supports her to the common room. She lies in bed thinking _bad boy sad boy_ trying to make sense. She applies her free mascara and thinks of her mother, wondering if she is vapid enough yet. When she breathes in she can see two ribs on each side, thin like angel bones. Fragile like flowers.

And still there are the sit-ups and the coffees and the colas and a measure of peace in her cocoon of old tired bones.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N All rights to JKR, all love to my fantastic beta and all reviews to me please :D

Poking holes through her belt because it doesn't fit anymore. Size zero isn't good enough; double zero

would be better. Lying on her bed, she cries and cries and cries and waits for Lavender to come in and

tell her that's she not sick, just fat and it's no wonder Ron can't stand to look at her.

While she waits, she dreams.

Dreams that souls are like flowers and hers falls out of her mouth. Draco builds a horn that he calls

implacable notions, and sings it back to her lips. But when she opens her mouth to swallow it again, it

blows away.

Then she eats a whole cake.

Hermione wakes, screams, clutches and scrabbles at her thighs, looking for the cake. It's not there. But

she runs anyway. Breath coming fast till she's outside the Slytherin common room.

"Pureblood, mudblood, Hermione Granger is a fatty" she is chanting but the door doesn't open.

And then.

Little dots, can't see, help me, fainting, falling, Professor Snape, no, no, help me.

She falls into his outstretched arms.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N So what did you think? All rights to JKR, all love to my beta, all please please please review :)

Relapse; recovery. Relapse; recovery. Whittle yourself down; fatten yourself up. A brief stint in St. Mungo's and tens of days spent wilting in the hospital wing. Tens turn to hundreds, hundreds turn to permanence.

Hospitals, she thinks, should have real wings. Then she could scale them and fly away. She does no scaling, no flying, these days. No fighting either.

The Final Battle, they call it. Even if she survives, she won't be long in this world. She is going to see Professor Lupin, she thinks. He will scold her like he used to, or perhaps just hold her hand and cry.

He comes to see her every day, the golden-haired muggle-hating boy. Draco likes to sit by her side and read her textbooks (on good days) and cheap vampire porn (on bad ones). Soon, they all become bad days and he just sits with her, silent.

And then it happens. The walls fall. He's sitting with her when the door crashes open. His lips are moving, in prayer or petition or-

"I love you, mudblood"

He presses his lips to her brow as streaks of green illuminate the room, rushing towards them like spurts of seawater.


End file.
